Mysteries book 3 murder in tarsis

Forgotten Realms / Dragonlance The Mysteries: Murder in Tarsis By John Maddox Roberts Chapter One A thin mantle of snow lay upon the city, reflecting the gleam of the full moon, silver-gilding its towers, its mansions and great public buildings Some windows glowed with the soft yellow light of shaded lamps In others shone the brighter pinpricks of candles, and a few flickered orange with the radiance of hearth fires Above many rooftops, thin columns of white smoke ascended from chimney pots into the still air of night The man who contemplated this tranquil scene found it quite lovely, albeit charged with an inescapable melancholy, for great segments of the city were dark and ruinous From these sections came no cheering glow, and no fragrant smoke arose therefrom This sadness he found in no wise displeasing, for he fancied himself a poet, and poets are ever drawn to melancholy He stood in a window beneath the eaves of the Inn of Happy Return, named in the days when the city was a great port and happy returns were not uncommon, when its argosies sailed the great seas of the world Indeed, any sort of return was happy, when one considered the alternative The inn stood on a rise of ground in the southwest corner of the city, near the rectangular fort that once guarded its harbor From this, the third floor of the inn, he could overlook the entire city, for he was above the level of all but its highest towers Tarsis the Proud she was known in those days, he mused, and Tarsis the Beautiful, even Tarsis of Ten Thousand Ships, although this was surely an exaggeration What is she now? he thought Tarsis the Dying, perhaps In the great Cataclysm the sea had fled Tarsis, leaving her like a bride spurned by her lover upon the steps of the temple The land trade kept her a viable city, but she could no longer support the population of old nor enjoy the prosperity that had once made her, if not queen city of the world, at least first among princesses He found himself moved to compose a poem upon this famous tragedy, but he had scarcely time to expand his opening verse into a couplet when there came a knocking at his door "Enter," he murmured, not turning The knocker who came in was a squat man wearing an apron and a cloth cap whose long, tasseled tail dangled beside his round, whiskery face "You have a visitor," the innkeeper announced The man who strode in behind him was too lofty a personage to knock at lowly doors He was dressed all in black velvet embroidered with silver thread His gloves and boots were of soft black leather, and he wore the half-mask affected by men and women of fashion At his waist was belted a slender sword and its matching dagger "Build up that fire, innkeeper," said the aristocrat, not deigning even to nod toward the little blaze in the corner hearth, "and close those shutters." "I prefer to breathe the bracing air of winter night," said the poet in the mildest of voices, stopping the innkeeper in mid-bustle "But by all means revive the fire." While the innkeeper poked at the fire and placed kindling on it the two men said nothing A girl in a tight-laced bodice above a stained skirt brought in a platter bearing a pitcher, two goblets, and an assortment of seedcakes, dried fruits, and hard-baked biscuits She filled the goblets and withdrew wordlessly Satisfied that the fire now burned properly, the innkeeper stood "Will there be anything else, my masters?" He smiled hopefully, but there was no reply and he bowed himself out of the room, shutting the door behind him The man in velvet took a goblet in a gloved hand and drank "You are Nistur," he said, not making a question of it "I am he," said the poet, taking the other goblet "You come highly recommended." "I have always given my clients satisfaction." "My own name is of no concern to you," said the man in velvet, haughtily "And for this reason I have not asked it of you." The aristocrat was somewhat nonplussed, for he was accustomed to a certain modicum of groveling from his inferiors, even from those with a fearsome reputation, such as this man possessed Indeed, the fellow was not at all what he expected, and he studied the figure before him with some care as he pondered his next words The man named Nistur was short and rather stout His jerkin of soft brown leather strained its laces over his paunch, its nap worn and shiny in spots His yellow boots, once fine but now much scuffed and stained, came to midthigh, their tops turned down Between jerkin and boots he wore baggy trunk hose, black slashed with orange His shirt of white linen with its leg-of-mutton sleeves was frayed at collar and cuffs Yet withal there was about the man an air of neatness and precision His broad, long-fingered hands were immaculately manicured The ends of his mustache were curled with care and his beard trimmed to a symmetrical point The abundant, curly black hair stopped an inch above his ears, leaving a dome of bare, gleaming scalp to reflect the firelight Beneath sardonically arched brows, his eyes were black, sharp and steady "I was composing a poem upon the semi-tragic fall of your city when you arrived," Nistur said "Greater poets than you have made it their life's work," the other said, sneering at this presumption "And how is it that you think this subject merely semitragical?" Even as he said it he was nettled at himself for admitting interest in the thoughts of such a man "In the great tragedies, cities perish at the height of their glory, as did Istar For a great city to continue so diminished is ignoble and not fit subject matter for a true epic." "I did not come here to speak of poetry," said the aristocrat "I desire the death of a man Is this not your craft?" "It is, indeed," said Nistur "Truly, I am a poet, but these times are unkind to one who seeks to exercise the divine gift, so I must have a means to earn my bread I choose the ancient and most honorable vocation of the assassin." "Gild your profession as you will," said the man in velvet, smoothing a long, graying mustache with a gloved finger on which gleamed a golden ring wrought in the semblance of a dragon that gripped in its talons a huge, blue pearl "The man who must die calls himself Iron-wood He is a mercenary, at present residing in an inn on the old waterfront, such as is favored by his kind Why he must die is—" "Is no concern of mine Yes, I know If you not feel constrained to explain your reasons for hiring a killing, please not feel compelled to remind me of the fact repeatedly You are not my first client." Stung by this insolence, the aristocrat was about to put the assassin in his place when they were interrupted by sounds from the street below An exchange of angry shouts, rendered confused and incoherent by echoing from the many-angled walls bordering the narrow street, was followed by the sound of steel clashing on steel The ring of metal bore a flat, tinny undertone that the experienced ears of the two men above recognized as the sound made by weapons of indifferent temper The two went to the window and gazed with interest on the scene below, each for his own reasons The aristocrat raised his half-mask to see the better, but he kept his face half averted, a velvet-gloved hand between himself and Nistur's gaze The assassin did not even try to look As far as he was concerned, the less he knew about his employers, the better In the street below a dozen men were engaged in combat, wielding curved, two-handed swords with more enthusiasm than art Even as the two watched, a man fell, then another, amid curses, shouts, and screams Blood, rendered black by the light of Solinari, began to pool in the snow The fight continued for perhaps a hundred heartbeats; then the survivors of one faction had had enough, broke away and ran, closely pursued by the sound men of the other side, who bayed like hounds on the scent of prey Two men lay still on the street amid spreading black puddles, while another limped away, using his long sword as a crutch, his hand clasped against a badly gashed thigh The aristocrat and the assassin turned from the window "Brawling bands of ruffians," said the former "The city is full of them of late They all use those two-handed slashers In my day, men dueled with the rapier." He touched the slender blade at his side "Yours was a more elegant time," said Nistur "The sole advantage of their choice of weapon is that it allows one to perform maximum damage with minimal skill, making it ideal for street brawlers like those we just observed My own weapons are rather antiquated." He nodded toward a corner of the little room where a sheathed sword stood propped with its belt wrapped spirally around it It was not a rapier like the aristocrat's, nor a curved twohander like those of the street bravos, nor yet was it the long, straight, broad battlefield weapon favored by soldiers, nor the cutlass of the sailor Instead, it was a basket-hilted sword of middling length, perhaps three fingers longer than two feet Next to it rested a small, spike-bossed buckler of beaten steel, no more than a foot in diameter "The basket-hilt is out of fashion, to be sure," said the aristocrat "But at least it is a gentleman's weapon Broadsword or backsword?" he asked with a certain interest The nobles of Tarsis liked to think of themselves as a warrior aristocracy, although in reality they had relinquished that role to professionals many generations before Still, practice at arms was esteemed a gentlemanly accomplishment "Backsword," said Nistur, meaning that it was a single-edged blade, rather than the double-edged broadsword "It was forged two hundred years ago by dwarves of the Anvil-Breaker clan." "They made storied weapons," the aristocrat acknowledged "I have some specimens in my own family armory Very well, to business You seem to know your craft and now you know the name of your vie—your subject Will you require anything else?" "I hesitate to bother one as noble as yourself with trifles," said Nistur, "but there remains the matter of my recompense." "Oh Yes." The velvet-wearer reached into a scrip at his belt and drew forth a leather purse that he tossed on the table with a grimace of distaste "Here is half, as agreed Upon successful completion of your mission, leave word with the innkeeper and you shall have the remainder." There could be no haggling The fee for this service was set by ancient custom "There will be one more thing," the aristocrat continued, "a trifling matter, but one I would see done." "What might that be?" queried Nistur "The man wears a rather unusual armor After your commission is accomplished, be so good as to remove it and hand it over when you collect the balance of your pay." The short man bristled with indignation "Sir, you insult me! I am an assassin of high repute I not rob the dead! I realize it is customary for heroes and even kings to strip the armor from a slain foe of high rank, but that may be done only on the battlefield It would be a degradation for a man of my profession! Surely, you have flunkies who can perform this deed for you, after I have carried out my commission." The velvet-clad man seemed about to give way to a burst of temper, but he restrained himself "Very well, if you have so high an opinion of yourself Just accomplish the killing and collect your pay." "Just so that is understood," said Nistur, somewhat mollified "You will know when my mission is accomplished because there are those who report to you all that occurs in this city When you are so informed, send the balance to me here." "As you wish," said the aristocrat He adjusted the half-mask over his visage "I not expect to encounter you again Best that you should leave the city as soon as you have collected your blood money, assassin." "I cannot think what would detain me here, lacking the pleasure of your company, my lord," said the other The man in velvet whirled, snatched the door open, and disappeared amid a swirl of cloak-skirts and winking silver thread The door closed, and Nistur sighed He had known long ago, when he had taken up his doleful profession, that he would be in the service of such men He knew as well that the man who hired him would try to have him killed once the job was done, probably by the person sent to deliver the balance of the payment Men of that class spoke much of their honor, but they bothered to behave honorably only toward their equals and superiors, and then only when they saw it to be to their own advantage Nistur had been forced to chastise many such clients in the past He refilled his goblet and returned to the window As he sipped he sought to remember the poem he had begun earlier, but found that it had fled from his mind He shrugged No matter The city of Tarsis now seemed to him unworthy of a fine poem Let it die and be forgotten Already the night watch had dragged away the bodies from the street below There were dark pools on the snowy street, long streaks where the bodies had been dragged off, and an arc of blood spread across a whitewashed wall, long, thin trickles depending from its rainbow curve The silver moon illumined the scene with great clarity, but it leached all color from it Nistur found that he was moved to create another poem, this one in the terse, elegant style of the Istarian verse-epigram Blood upon the snow Fair the face of the silver moon shines Upon the blood of the unworthy Will it be the moon of night or the sun of day That shines from my life's blood? Mightily pleased with this exercise of his gift, Nistur prepared himself to go out and undertake the task for which he had been retained From long habit he reached within his jerkin and assured himself that the short double-edged dagger was in its accustomed place, hanging from a thong around his neck Next his hand dipped into the turned-down top of his right boot and felt the flat bone handle of his long dirk All was in order He belted on the basket-hilted sword and the little shield from the hook on his sword sheath From a peg by the door he took his wide, low-crowned hat, decorated with long feathers Thin blades were sewn into the edges of its brim He threw a fur-trimmed cloak over his shoulders and, last of all, drew on a pair of gloves made of fine kidskin, embroidered with colorful thread Thus attired, Nistur left the room, descended two flights of stairs, passed through the common room, and went out into the chilly night, to all appearances nothing more than an ordinary burgher armed with but a single weapon, and that the graceless, townsman's sword scorned by aristocrats and professional fighting men alike ***** The tavern was named the Drowned Sailor Its construction was of mixed stone and timber, the wood mostly scavenged from old ships Despite the long absence of the sea that had once lapped at the wharves only a few steps from the front door, the place retained a certain nautical panache, as it had in the days when it was truly an establishment catering to seamen In the areas away from the hearth, illumination was provided by old ship's lanterns Models of old vessels from the rafters, and the walls were decorated with paintings of sea battles The bar was made from the huge, flat shoulder blade of a sea dragon At least, such was the owner's claim It was definitely the bone of an imposingly large creature Despite the absence of sailors from the city, the tavern entertained a sizable and heterogeneous company The teamsters, drovers, and riders of many caravans favored the place, for four great roads and a number of lesser ones converged on Tarsis Also present in significant numbers were mercenary soldiers, at loose ends after exhaustion brought an end to a number of small, local wars Few of the guests were of the nonhuman sort, for Tarsis was not hospitable toward such persons Once a cosmopolitan port, the city had withdrawn into itself, growing insular as the sea receded Even the human transients, of whom there were many, were left in no doubt that their welcome would not outlast their ability to spend money Whatever the attitude toward them of the city fathers, merchants, and other residents, the company in the tavern were convivial, spending and gaming away their pay; resting and finding recreation after the rigors and austerities of long travel; preparing for the next, long leg of their various journeys, whether to the sea, to Thorbardin across the Plains of Dust, to the storied lands of the east, or to other, nameless destinations The wine and ale flowed freely, songs in a half-dozen languages rang out at intervals, and the rattle of dice was unceasing In this gregarious company one figure was distinguished for his solitary aloofness, seated as he was by himself at a tiny table in a corner far from the hearth He seemed a young man, yet the expression oil his dark, weathered face was that of embittered age Straight, somewhat unkempt black hair brushed his shoulders, and he gazed broodingly into the bottom of a near-empty tankard As he raised the vessel his hand began to tremble, and he hastily set the cup back on the table, glaring at his hand with hatred, as if it had betrayed him As the lone man raised his tankard for a second try, the door opened to admit a short, stout fellow in a wide, feathered hat and winter cloak whose neat, almost delicate appearance seemed somewhat at odds with the raffish nature of the regulars of the Drowned Sailor He spoke for a moment with the barkeep, and that worthy nodded toward the lone man at the corner table The man in the hat crossed the common room and paused beside the little table until the solitary man looked up at him "Pardon me, sir," said the standing man, "but I am given to understand that you are of the mercenary profession." "I am that," agreed the other "My name is Nistur Might I be permitted to join you?" "Suit yourself," said the lone man ungraciously He raised his tankard again The hand trembled slightly, and he steadied it with the other Nistur sat "If you will forgive my observing, sir, you have the look of a man gazing into the bottom of his last cup." "And if I am, what of it?" "Only that I wish to buy you another." Even as he spoke, the barkeep arrived with a pair of very large tankards "Two bumpers of my best, as ordered," he announced with pride As he set the tankards on the table a small figure, cloaked and hooded, passed behind him With a speed creditable in so burly a man, the barkeep whirled and snatched the hood back, revealing the fine-boned, somewhat smudged face of a young person of indeterminate gender "Shellring!" the barkeep snapped "How many times have I warned you about coming in here? I'll not have you troubling my guests!" The huge, gray eyes widened with offended innocence "I came in only to get away from the cold for a while Would you drive me forth on so cruel a night?" The voice might have been a young boy's or that of a girl just coming to womanhood Shellring's reddish hair was shorn irregularly to a bristly stubble, rendering judgment of sex no easier "I would indeed Begone! Jump for the door or I call the watch forthwith!" With a hiss, the person called Shellring fled The bar-keep turned back toward the two he had just served "Sorry about that, sirs I try to keep the riffraff out of this place, but it's like trying to block a cold draft They always seem to find a way in." He bustled away to see to his other patrons, leaving the two isolated in the midst of the crowd "I thank you," said the man who had been alone, grudgingly He raised the fresh tankard and drank This time his hand did not tremble He set the tarred, wooden vessel down with a thump "Now, what's your proposition?" "Proposition?" said Nistur, startled by his abruptness "Aye, proposition You have named me mercenary, and mercenary I am You must know that the word means 'motivated by money' I suspect that you are going to offer me some." "Oh, yes Indeed," Nistur mumbled, examining the man even as he drank from his own tankard As the bar-keep had suggested, the ale was superior The man before him appeared to be in his twenties, but there was something about the shape of his eyes and ears that hinted at elven blood, and this might call for a reassessment of his age The hands now loosely nested around the base of the tankard were large, with thick palms and prominent knuckles A thin band of gold winked from one finger They were fighting man's hands, but they also resembled the hands of a dwarf What sort of fellow was this? That he was indeed a mercenary there could be no doubt He was clad in armor of a most unusual sort: a close-fitting suit of tiny, glistening scales that covered him from neck to wrists to the tops of his knee-length boots Whether the scales were some sort of metal or the hide of a strange reptile Nistur could not tell Gauntlets of the same construction from the man's belt, which also supported on one side a rather short curved sword and on the other a long dagger with an exceptionally wide blade On the table next to his tankard rested a helmet that was no more than a light skullcap of steel "To be sure, I wish to employ you I am a merchant, you see, engaged on an expedition to Zeriak It is a trading venture, to determine whether a profitable market exists there for certain dyestuffs and spices I serve as broker for these goods, representing a syndicate of traders." "Zeriak? There is a great stretch of near-trackless land between here and that place." "Wherefore I require a guard who is an experienced fighting man and a traveler You appear to be such a man." "So I am So are half the men in this tavern Why you not approach them?" "They belong to bands Hire one and you must hire all I require only a single escort The barkeep here assured me that you are alone." The man barked a humorless laugh "Alone! Aye, I am that And for reasons more than adequate." Nistur sighed "You seem reluctant, sir In my previous experience, mercenaries becalmed by an extended peace are more than anxious to find employment If you are not of that incUnation, I shall inquire elsewhere." He began to rise "Stay!" the mercenary said with a forestalling gesture "I am interested But I am not a trusting man If the pay be agreeable, I will go with you Just now, anything that gets me away from this dismal city sounds more than tempting." Nistur resumed his seat "Excellent How may I call you, sir?" "Ironwood." "And what land you call home?" "None I gave up my past when I adopted the mercenary trade It is not wise to investigate too deeply into the past lives of my colleagues." "I am acquainted with the custom Mercenaries are not the only persons who prefer to make their own lives, rather than continue those to which they were born." He took a meditative sip "Well, then I intend to get an early start in the morning Will you come with me now?" Ironwood drained his tankard and stood "I am ready." "Have you no belongings to gather?" "What you see is all I have Lodging and provisions are dear in Tarsis I have sold off or gambled away all else I kept only the wherewithal to earn more." He clapped the steel cap on his pate "Let's be off." They left the inn, and Nistur saw that Ironwood lacked even a cloak The armor could be little protection from the cold, and a cutting wind swirled the snow crystals along the narrow streets He felt a momentary pang, knowing that he had no quarrel with this man who had fallen upon such hard times He tried to shake off the mood, for it boded ill for a man of his profession Compassion was no concern of his, only the accomplishment of a clean, elegant kill for his client In a place where two narrow streets met, there was a tiny square with a fountain at its center Crossing this square, they paused at an unwonted sound from overhead It was like muted, distant thunder, and Nistur, frowning, studied the silvery clouds advancing toward the moon from the south "Those clouds mean more snow, not rain," he mused "Strange to hear thunder at this time of year." "It isn't thunder," said the mercenary Startled at what sounded like dread in the man's voice, Nistur looked at him and saw that the man's expression was as unsettled as his voice He followed the line of the mercenary's gaze back toward the cloud bank and for an instant thought he saw an uncanny form flit from one billowy tower to another, leaving behind nothing but an impression of a vast, winged shape The assassin shook himself Now, when he needed all his professional faculties, was no time to be distracted by apparitions in the heavens "Come along," he said, moving back into the street with short, quick strides They turned along an alley that the moon overhead, shining down between rooflines, turned into a silver ribbon Coming to a place where the alley widened a bit, Nistur halted "This seems like a good place," he announced "Eh?" Ironwood said suspiciously "A good place for what? Where are we going, anyway?" Nistur turned and bowed with profound courtesy "My friend, a certain party desires your death, and I have been retained to satisfy this desire Please not take this personally; it is a professional matter You may now consider yourself to be in mortal peril." Having delivered this warning, he drew his basket-hilted sword "An assassin, eh?" Ironwood said with contempt, but without surprise Clearly he had received more bad news than good in his life "And you want to fight it out? Your kind usually favor a dagger in the back, or poison in the cup." "Only the dregs of the profession," Nistur assured him "They give us all a bad name." He dropped his cloak and slid forward, the little buckler extended before him In a single, fluid motion Ironwood thrust his hands into the gauntlets at his belt and drew his short sword and broad dagger The weapons, Nistur noted, were as unusual as his own This should make for an interesting match, but it could have only one outcome He knew himself to be a great master of the sword, and he had never met a soldier who was more than merely competent with the weapon Soldiers depended upon strength and valor and protective armor, seldom possessing the sheer skill of a man who had devoted every day for many years to practice at arms The straight blade of Nistur flickered and was opposed by the mercenary's broad dagger Ironwood sent his curved sword toward Nistur's head, knee, and flank, and each time it rang from the boss of the small shield, which the shorter man seemed to maneuver with an adroitness little short of miraculous There was no great clamor, for these were experts, not brawlers flailing away like fools The blades rang with the clear chime of perfectly tempered steel, but the noise would not have been heard a score of paces distant Nistur was amazed at the mercenary's skill Rarely had he encountered a soldier with such exquisite command of his weapons Even so, the parries of the broad dagger were getting a bit wide, and twice his parry failed entirely, forcing Ironwood to deflect the straight blade with his armored forearm It did him no harm, but it showed that his timing was flagging as the fight progressed The armor, Nistur saw, was going to present a problem He could hack through it in time, but that would lack style, and even his fine, dwarf-forged edge would be damaged by such misuse Thus far, he had employed only the edge, but his sword had a point and was useful for thrusting as well He decided that, when the duel had progressed to the proper stage, he would thrust unexpectedly just above the neckline of the scale suit, making an appropriate closing verse to this poem in action Nistur was preparing the final combination of cuts and parries that would end with the fatal thrust when, abruptly, Ironwood staggered sideways The hand that Nistur had seen trembling on the tankard now shook violently Ironwood gritted his teeth and cursed in a language Nistur did not recognize "Not now!" the mercenary growled, his right knee seeming to buckle beneath him Nistur was tempted to try the rare but effective full-body lunge and end the match instantly, but caution told him to hold back There was many a ruse in swordplay calculated to gull an opponent into an unwise commitment: the false stumble, the exaggerated effects of a trifling wound, the feigned distraction, all of them were ways by which reckless duelists were drawn into premature assaults Every truly dangerous, killing attack left the attacker momentarily open to a deadly reply, and such moves were to be essayed only when it was certain the opponent would be unable to take advantage of this opening So instead of lunging in, Nistur stood back, fully on guard Instead of attacking the man before him, he beat strongly at the curved blade The hilt flew from a hand that seemed to have become nerveless Ironwood seemed to be devoting all his efforts just to keeping on his feet But Nistur knew full well that the defensive dagger was also a weapon of assault Using his point to threaten the other's face, he slid in and rapped the broad blade with the edge of his buckler The weapon skittered musically on a snow-bare patch of paving stones Slowly, Ironwood's knees gave beneath him, and he fell to the alley with a rustle of scales Reptile hide after all, Nistur decided Not metal With a foot he turned the man over, and the black eyes glared at him, the limbs twitching uselessly "I fear I must finish this, my unfortunate friend," Nistur said, resheathing his sword "Do not take it too hard I not know from what condition you suffer, but clearly you had little future left as a mercenary, and I now understand why you were so alone." He drew the dirk from his thigh boot The beautifully polished ten-inch blade flashed in the moonlight Like his sword, it was single-edged, intended primarily for thrusting but with a thick spine that added power to a cut, a handy feature to use against an opponent not expecting such a maneuver As he knelt by the fallen mercenary, Nistur was overcome by a wave of revulsion There was no honor in this The man was helpless through no fault of his own nor through any efforts on Nistur's part A fine but unlucky swordsman was going to die at the behest of some repulsive aristocrat who hated the mercenary and despised the assassin, but who wished to keep his own velvet-gloved hands clean These were profitless thoughts, he told himself He placed his point against the man's throat Even as he performed the act, Ironwood's left hand flashed upward, something glittering in it Nistur felt a blow beneath his chin and a spreading numbness He tried to drive his point downward but found he could not A concealed dagger! What infamy! He sat heavily, and the snow sent a chill through the seat of his breeches "I am slain—and justly—for my unmanly hesitation," Nistur said, wishing he had some better last words prepared It was an unforgivable oversight in a poet "Nonetheless, sir, that was dishonorable, even for a mercenary! I would have expected better from you." Ironwood creaked out a laugh "Had that been a dagger, would you be talking now?" He seemed to be forcing the words past a half-paralyzed larynx "Nay, your tongue would be nailed to your palate Here is the maid that kissed you." The mercenary's left hand shook, but Nistur saw clearly the gold ring on the smallest finger Now turned so its thin band was inward, it displayed ribbons of gold worked into an intricate knot The assassin had seen its likeness before "The Knot of Thanalus!" he wheezed "Aye Even one such as I keeps back one defense against need Now, assassin, you are bound to me and may me no harm." He tried to laugh, but at last his powers of speech failed him He seemed to have lost control of his limbs utterly Nistur expected to see the man's eyes roll back, but they remained steady, still doing his bidding when all else had failed him Clearly, the assault with the ring had been Ironwood's last act of volition and must have required a great effort of will Nistur was in a quandary He was now bound to serve the man he had tried to kill He did not question the fact Had the spell not been potent, he would have succeeded in driving his point home, even having suffered a mortal wound The problem was, what could he do? He had no idea what ailed the mercenary Was it mortal, or would it pass? Either way, a freezing alleyway was no place for either of them to spend the night The assassin got to his feet and retrieved his cloak; then he gathered Ironwood's dagger and sword He turned to see a cloaked form crouched over his former victim and current master "What we have here," Stunbog said, "is indeed a true behir It is no dragon, but it will be just as hard to kill." "I was hoping for something more encouraging," Nistur said "Let me finish The behir has some magical qualities, but basically it is just a very large reptile: fierce, active when hungry, sluggish when sated, and almost brainless Just now, it gives every evidence of being hungry." "It spits lightning!" Hotforge said "True," Stunbog allowed, 'l>ut once having employed this formidable weapon, it will need some time to generate another bolt." "Excellent," Ironwood said sourly "We let it fry one of us, and the rest try to hack and hammer it to death." "Allow me to wax pedantic for a moment," Stunbog said "There are two types of lightning, the natural and the magical Natural hghtning is the common sort we see striking from the clouds in a thunderstorm It is terrible and dangerous, but it is not intelligently directed unless it is used by a god The gods have not manifested themselves in a very long time Magical hghtning is called up by a very accomplished wizard, or employed by a creature with magical qualities, such as the one who waits hungrily without Both sorts of hghtning have a strong affinity for earth, and it is known that they may be drawn toward the earth by metal, and their power thus drained away." "You think we can neutralize its lightning?" Nistur asked Stunbog looked at each of them in turn "If we use the resources we have, and if we act very quickly and very bravely, I think we can." "And after that, how we kill it?" Hotforge inquired "As for that," Stunbog said, "I must defer to our dragon-slayer." They all looked at Ironwood For a moment his expres- sion registered dismay; then his features hardened "Well, let's be about it, then We have little time." I For a while they crouched in a huddle, heads together, while Stunbog and Ironwood drew figures on the dust of the tunnel floor with their fingertips When they were done, Shellring and Badar went through the tunnel and brought back more of the long pry bars Then there was nothing more to be done by way of preparation Having made up his mind, Ironwood showed no hesitation "Let's go!" He led the way, gripping one of the steel bars in both hands Shellring now held his sword, ready to hand it to him or use it herself in direst extremity None of them had much faith in the efficacy of swords against the beast's armored hide As they rushed from the tunnel, the behir, sensing the movement, whirled with startling speed on its numerous legs The snakelike tail whipped about, snapping against the walls as the head raised on its long neck for a better view From chandelier level, it looked down, the head turning from side to side, spines laid flat against its neck, as it brought the gaze of first one slit-pupiled eye, then the other, against each foe in turn All were about equally distant and equally active The terrible beast seemed to suffer from the primitive-brained reptilian problem of making a selection Ironwood, Myrsa, Badar, and Nistur, each holding a pry bar, rushed to four of the torch sconces Shellring capered about, waving the curved sword to provide distraction Hotforge brandished his hammer and yelled instructions at the young dwarves beyond the portcullis These immediately began to leap about and hoot derision at the beast Stunbog had stressed that the iron grate would quickly and safely ground the lightning bolt But the behir was interested only in the maddening, tempting creatures in the room with it And it was hungry Robbed of any other criterion for judgment, its attention centered on what looked like the most satisfying meal Ignoring the others, its head swayed back and forth between Ironwood and Myrsa The two cursed at it imaginatively, gripping their bars against the sconces behind them, gritting their teeth against the terror to come Myrsa went silent and pale as the great head, three times the length of a horse's, stilled The huge yellow eyes, side-mounted though they were, swiveled and fixed on her with a stare only slightly less horrifying than that of a basilisk She held the bar in a white-knuckled grip, wedging its butt into a gap in the strap-iron bars of the sconce behind her She knew that when she released the bar, it would remain wedged only a fraction of a second before falling to the floor Her life on that instant The behir's long, narrow lower jaw dropped open, revealing serried, sharklike teeth and a quivering, three-forked tongue The slender spines shot erect to form a semicircular fan behind the crocodilian head "Now!" Stunbog shouted The word, Myrsa's desperate lunge, the flash, and the thunderous blast all seemed to occur at once Hotforge and the dwarves behind the portcullis all howled as the dazzling bolt assaulted their sensitive eyes The rest were stunned for a moment, and when their vision cleared they saw that the bar and the sconce glowed dull red and were now welded firmly together Myrsa lay ten feet away, her eyes open but whether she was dead, unconscious, or merely disoriented, it was impossible to tell For a long moment the behir was still, apparently stymied by this unexpected development Then, with a shout, Badar ran to his sister, and the behir coiled itself to strike Ironwood turned to Nistur and grinned "Well, my friend, here is where a hero earns his pay." With a bellow, he gripped his pry bar in both hands and charged Instantly distracted, the terrible head whipped toward him Nistur yelled and attacked, but with less enthusiasm Shellring whirled and screamed maniacally, and even Stunbog jumped, waving his arms, his robe flapping, all dignity forgotten Their best chance lay in keeping the creature's nut-sized brain overloaded with stimuli But now that its attention was firmly fixed, it forgot all else It wanted Ironwood The behir's jaws gaped once again, and its head lunged forward on the end of its long, muscular neck With a precise lunge, Ironwood thrust the point of his bar into its tongue, skewering it to the lower jaw With a squalling hiss, the behir's head whipped from side to side, trying to shake both weapon and man loose, but the mercenary kept the bar clamped tight against his side and stuck fast as a burr Nistur lunged with his bar against the monster's side, throwing his full weight behind the weapon, but the point rebounded from the armor plating Then the lashing tail swept his feet from beneath him, and he landed on his back, the wind bursting from his lungs and his pry bar flying across the room to clang against a wall With a final shake of its head, the behir shook the bar from its mouth Now driven by fury and hate as much as by hunger, it lunged for Ironwood again He had managed to keep on his feet, but he was caught off-balance this time, and his point slid to one side of the jaw instead of plunging into the tongue as before Desperately, he pushed the iron bar sideways into the mouth and gripped it with both hands With his arms at full extension to each side of the terrible jaws, his head was two inches from them when they snapped shut Enraged with this unwontedly stubborn dinner, the behir raised its head until it cracked against the ceiling Ironwood from the bar like an acrobat on a trapeze as the reptilian head swung back and forth and the bar bent into the semblance of an inverted U Then something occurred to the monster's tiny brain, and its head lowered as its body arched slightly from the floor and the foremost pair of legs reached up for its tormentor Badar helped Myrsa to her feet, and she shook her head, kstening to his babbling as the stars cleared from her vision She saw the forelegs close on Ironwood, their claws scraping at his tough armor, the belly of the animal now exposed Shoving Badar aside, she ran to snatch up the pry bar that had flown from Nistur's hand Then, screaming a barbarian war cry, she ran to the beast and launched the weapon like a spear from a distance of ten feet The steel bar sank half its length into the smaller, softer scales of the behir's belly Following his sister's example, Badar rushed in and hurled his own bar from close range It sank in a hands-breadth beside hers The monster squealed, and Ironwood dropped to the floor, his bar now bitten raggedly into two pieces He retained his hold on the pointed end, now only three feet long Nistur, back on his feet with his sword out, ran up to the monster's side and slashed with his sword This blow having no effect, he essayed a lunge with his point, striking between the large scales With his whole weight behind the lunge, his fine, dwarf-forged blade bent in a perfect arc, but it did not penetrate Leaping back to avoid a lash of the tail, he cursed "You might as well assault a castle with a toothpick!" he cried, resheathing the blade without looking down at his scabbard He looked around for a more effective weapon Despite everyone's best efforts, the behir was fixed on Ironwood with reptilian obsession The mercenary Was back on his feet, the short, pointed bar gripped in both hands, his fury raised to a pitch equaling his enemy's The two were dementedly determined to kill one another The behir's head raised and, with a honking bellow, it came down on Ironwood, jaws impossibly agape, enveloping the upper half of the mercenary's body As the others stood paralyzed in stunned disbelief, Ironwood leapt from the floor as if eager to be swallowed The terrible jaws clamped down, the teeth biting on the armored waist, raising the man from the floor as the jaws worked sideways, grinding, trying to force this disagreeable dinner down its gullet "No!" Nistur cried, snatching up a sledgehammer and rushing to the beast's side He slammed the twenty-pound steel head against the thing's neck, but apparently to no avail Hotforge, whose vision had partially returned, plied his own hammer in the same fashion from the other side Myrsa and Badar tugged their pry bars loose, then plunged them in again while Shellring took Ironwood's sword in both hands and slashed vigorously but ineffectually at the scaly neck The behir, intent on swallowing its prey, ignored them all The beast gave a final contortion of its jaws, and the armored feet disappeared within The head rocked forward and back on its long neck with the unmistakable aspect of a bird or reptile that has swallowed something too large for it The others redoubled their efforts; then all were sent flying as the tail lashed around and all twelve legs shot out sideways The neck bent into a huge S and went rigid The eyes stared at nothing, and all movement ceased for several long seconds Then, slowly and gracefully, the behir collapsed The neck rolled down on the floor, and the head dropped, its long lower jaw crashing on the floor The lidless eyes rolled upward until the slit pupils were invisible; then the yellow balls turned dull Slowly, unable to believe it and suspecting some sort of reptilian trick, the survivors approached the thing "Look at that!" Shellring gasped She pointed to a spot on the top of the behir's head, six inches behind the eyes, from which a foot of bloody steel spike protruded Nistur shook his head with admiration "It just doesn't pay to swallow a hero." "It's still alive!" Shellring cried as a muscular convulsion ran through the neck "Its muscles will retain a semblance of life for several hours, but it is dead." "It is still trying to swallow," Nistur noted A large lump was moving down the neck toward the body It stopped, and a smaller bulge formed on the greater one They gazed in wonder at this prodigy; then a rip appeared in the soft, lower side of the neck and a scale-armored arm emerged, the hand gripping a curved dagger "He's still alive!" Shellring cried She flailed at the tough neck until Myrsa took the sword gently from her hands "Let me have that." The barbarian woman gripped the curved sword in both hands and raised it Bracing one foot on the monster's neck, she brought the keen blade down with great force and even greater precision, catching the edge of the cut Ironwood had made without touching his arm, opening a three-foot gash "Get him out of there!" Nistur cried He and Badar grasped the protruding arm and tugged Ironwood emerged from the opening, covered with blood and foul-smelling slime Even as they watched, amazed, his dragon-scale armor was changing in appearance The black scales turned dark blue, then a lighter blue, the color fading until the scales were transparent Their tips began to curl upward; then they fell away like winter leaves in a wind, revealing the mottled gray hide beneath The hide itself began to fall away in shreds "He is rid of his cursed armor!" Stunbog cried The healer stooped to pull away the ruined hide in handfuls "The digestive acids of the behir must be powerful enough to dissolve dragon scale! It protected him just long enough to preserve his life." Stunbog chuckled gleefully "We may have added something new to the lore of this curious creature." "Interpret it thus if you will," Nistur murmured, helping the healer clear away the wreckage of the once-magnificent armor "I would rather call it the reward of heroism But then, I am a poet." The mercenary dragged long, shuddering gulps of air into his lungs "Am I alive?" he gasped when he had breath to spare Stunbog crouched beside him and made a quick examination "Not only alive, but also not even badly injured." Nistur smiled and clapped Ironwood on a befouled shoulder "And now, my friend," he said, smiling, "can you doubt that it was really you who slew that black dragon?" TOO Chapter Croetoe In the dwarves' principal living area, the combatants rested and had their various injuries tended to while they planned their next moves All except for Stunbog suffered from minor injuries Ironwood had been the most roughly used, as well as being in breamtaking need of a bath While this was accomplished the dwarves laid out a minor banquet for them Hotforge was now mightily pleased with his human friends Because of them, his name would shine forever among his people as one who had fought a behir at close quarters With his healing duties finished, Stunbog stayed for some time in deep conversation with Hotforge and other dwarf elders He wrote down for them a detailed list of the values and uses of the various bodily parts of the behir Disposing of the huge carcass was going to be something of a feat, but he assured them that there was substantial profit to be had from selling to wizards those parts with magical properties When this was accomplished, Nistur regaled the healer with the strange tale of Ironwood's unfortunate early adventures, adding poetic embellishments as his gift dictated When he was done with the story, Stunbog pondered long on these events When Ironwood rejoined them, cleaned up and rubbed with liniment, they set about planning in earnest "Shellring tells us that you interpreted those sigils on Shadespeaker's hands," Ironwood said to Stunbog "So I did You recall that I said they were not of a protective nature, but of a deceptive one?" "That you did," the mercenary affirmed "In my book of sigils, just before we were carried off, I found one that was almost an exact match for the one you saw It is a sigil of changing." "Sigil of changing?" Nistur said "Might you elucidate?" "Certainly A sigil of changing is a part of a spell that in some way alters the appearance of a person or a thing It is a superficial spell, mind you It alters only the appearance, never the substance." "There are many such?" Nistur asked "Oh, a great many I pored through pages of them before I found the one you saw." "What sort of change does it bring about?" Ironwood asked "It alters the color of the eyes." They stared at him "Are you sure?" Nistur said Stunbog shrugged "Unless you remembered the sigil incorrectly." "But how could that protect him from the truth-fiend?" Shellring asked "An excellent question, and one to which I have no immediate answer," Stunbog told her "Does this mean that Shadespeaker is a wizard in truth?" Nistur asked "Not necessarily As I have said, this is a very superficial spell One who is well versed in the Arts can prepare such a spell, of which the sigil is only a part, the rest being a simple incantation, and sell it to a buyer, who may then use it at will However, this user cannot then transfer it to another It will work only for that one, and in time it will lose effectiveness Then he must have it renewed by one who has the true power." Ironwood was brooding deeply "Eye color," he said, as if to himself "The man's eyes were a deep brown, as I recall," Nistur mused "Not that it was easy to judge in the dimness of the tent, behind all those strings of amulets and with the surrounding skin smeared with green paint Why would he change the color of his eyes? Surely such a rogue is beyond common vanity." A young dwarf rushed in and spoke in a low voice with Hotforge The dwarf leader addressed the little company "I sent some spies up to sound out the city We have places where we can overhear without being detected The nomads are massed for an assault Within two hours they are to attack A truce has been called for a conference The lord and his Inner Council go out to speak with Kyaga and deliver the murderer of the chieftains Failing that, they have safe conduct back to the city, and the attack commences the moment the gates shut." "Access to cellars is a handy thing," Nistur noted "It might be a trap," Ironwood said "Once they are all in his camp, Kyaga may not let them go It is a foolish move." "Kyaga swore an oath by the ancestors of all the nomads that his promise of safe conduct is genuine," Hotforge said "If he swore by ancestors," Badar said, "he must be true to his oath If he break it, no chief or warrior follow him." "Since we found no better suspect," Nistur said, "the lord is going to surrender Councilor Melkar to Kyaga That will be enough The man is the only competent soldier in the council The others count for nothing." "So what are we to do?" Stunbog said "I confess I am stymied," Nistur admitted "It chafes me sorely that we have not found the slayer Councilor Melkar's fate is unjust, but none of these people seems destined for a good end They are inveterate schemers and treacherous scoundrels by birthright." "We undertook to uncover the guilty," Ironwood said with finality, "and that we shall do!" They looked at him in wonder "Hotforge," the mercenary said, "you've told us that you dwarves have tunnels leading under the walls and far out into the countryside Have you access to the nomads' camp?" "Surely If you want to go there, I can place you inside Kyaga's tent, should you wish it." "Excellent!" "My friend—" Nistur began, but a swift gesture of Ironwood's hand cut him off "Give me leave for a moment Now I must plan like an officer We are going to confront the lot of them and I must plan each move carefully." "You know who the killer is, then?" Stunbog said hopefully "No, but I can feel him within my grasp." He held up a broad hand and closed the fingers inward as if crushing something "It is all here, in what we have learned." "That is a slender reed upon which to lean our hopes," Nistur said "Suppose, at the last instant, the solution still eludes you?" "You need not come," Ironwood said "I'll go alone if need be." Nistur clapped a hand over his heart "You wound me deeply, sir! Of course I go where you go." "I'd not miss this," Stunbog said "And I go with Stunbog," Myrsa insisted "No," Ironwood said to her "I want you and your brother to go into the city and get us some horses What money have we?" They pooled their coins on the table "This may be enough for some decent nags No need for fiery steeds If you can get only five, Shellring can ride double." Hotforge tossed a bulging leather sack onto the table "Here If you are going to buy horses, get good ones It sounds as if you may soon be on the run If so, your only hope is sound horseflesh We have plenty of coin, and not a great deal of use for it." "I thank you," Ironwood said simply Then, to the barbarians he said, "Don't haggle, just overpay if you have to Every second counts now." Hotforge addressed Stunbog "I have one more favor to ask of you." "If it is in my power to grant, it is yours." The two conferred in low voices for a few moments "The gates are closed up tight," Shellring said "How you plan to get away?" "I can get you out," Hotforge said "We'll guide you from the horse market There is a broad underground passage, large enough for horses It leads to a little rise just south of the city." "Excellent The rest of us will meet you there, providing we live." Myrsa looked doubtfully to Stunbog, but he nodded Slowly, she nodded as well "Be off with you now, my dear," he said "We will meet with you soon." She gestured to Badar, and the two left with Delver and some others leading them Shellring gazed wistfully after the younger barbarian "No sense wasting time," Ironwood said, standing "Let us be off I want to be there when the two parties meet." Nistur stood as well "Why not? It will be a deed worthy of a poem By the way, suppose we fail to satisfy the lord or Kyaga or both?" "Then we run for it," Ironwood answered Nistur laughed "That should be a short but exdting chase." As the dwarves led them through the vast, gloomy, and seemingly endless tunnels, Stunbog, curious as ever about magical things, queried Ironwood about the black dragon he had slain as a youth The mercenary gave curt answers, his mind clearly on other things They came to a warren of small tunnels that had once been a part of a dwarven village Younger dwarves who had been spying from local vantage points reported to Hotforge, and the dwarf leader addressed the little band "We are below a stone outcropping just before the tent of Kyaga The Lord of Tarsis and his councilors approach." "Then it is time we spoke with these people," Iron-wood said "Yes," Stunbog agreed "I want a close look at this conqueror and his shaman." "By all means," Nistur said Shellring looked wistfully at her seal "I guess it's the last time I'll get to use this." Hotforge led them up a ramp to a strangely shaped room with irregular walls and ceiling Dwarves tugged open an equally irregular door to reveal a cleft in a large boulder The "room" was nothing more than hollowed-out rock "Good fortune, my friends," said Hotforge "We will keep this door open for you When the time comes to flee, not hesitate." They strode toward the mouth of the cleft, which at this early hour was still in deep shade Shellring gasped in surprise when they saw that they were in the midst of a great horde of nomads But nobody was looking their way Instead, all attention was on the cleared spot before the great tent of Kyaga In that place, Kyaga, backed by his honor guard, awaited the approadiing Tarsians He was mounted on a beautifully caparisoned horse Beside him, Shadespeaker was mounted on a more somber steed, and behind them was the bronze-masked standard-bearer The approaching cavalcade was all pomp and magnificence A line of young nobles in gilded armor rode bearing pennoned lances Ahundred paces before the tent, the line divided and wheeled to each side, to reveal the Lord of Tarsis, clad in his parade armor and backed by his Inner Councilors Rukh, in his ornate half-armor, was backed by his personal guard Alban was accompanied by his wizardry entourage Only Councilor Melkar was without escort He was splendidly mounted, but his hands were bound with chains In deference to his rank, the chains were golden To the west, the ramparts of Tarsis were crowded with citizenry gazing on this unprecedented spectacle At a sedate walk, the lord approached to within twenty paces of Kyaga Strongbow There he paused, and all was still "Kyaga Strongbow," intoned the lord, "in accordance with my pledge, I have brought you the one guilty of murdering your envoy and your subchief Let this be a settlement of the breach between our peoples Let us now pledge friendship and resume the negotiations that were so tragically interrupted." For long seconds Kyaga stared at the Tarsian party, his green eyes above the veil centering on the bound but proud Melkar "There have been two murders," he cried "Yet I see only one man in chains I accept him as the murderer of my chieftain Guklak, for Guklak was found hanging from the gate of his mansion I am far from satisfied that he slew Yalmuk Bloodarrow." Behind him the other chieftains raised cries of assent, demanding justice "I have killed no one," Melkar said with contempt "But neither of you truly cares who the killer is!" "Silence!" barked the lord "Do not compound your guilt with a futile lie!" There was snarling from the nomad camp, nervous shuffling among the Tarsian party Despite all pledges, open violence was in the air "Hold!" Ironwood bellowed, striding between the two parties "This man is innocent! We, the investigators charged in this matter, have determined the truth." All gaped at the strange little group that had sprung from nowhere to stand between the hostile parties The Lord of Tarsis was first to speak "You! Where did you come from? You were not among my following." "And they did not come past my sentries!" Kyaga said "What is the meaning of this?" Nistur removed his feathered hat and fanned himself nonchalantly "We, sir, are investigators Such feats are our stock-in-trade." "No matter!" cried the lord "I dismissed you from my service when you found that Melkar was the murderer Go or risk my severe displeasure!" "We still wear these," Ironwood said, holding up his seal, "and this means that we still hold your commission We were charged to ferret out the truth, and we have done so Will you hear us?" "You are baseborn rogues and frauds!" Kyaga said "You have no place in dealings between rulers!" A man rode forward from the nomad horde It was the Foul Spring subchief Laghan-of-the-Axe "I want to hear what they have to say!" "Aye!" cried a robed chieftain "So I!" There came a roar of assent from the chiefs ranged behind Kyaga While this was going on, Stunbog studied Kyaga and Shade-speaker, frowning as he looked from one to the other Kyaga's expression was unreadable behind his veil, but every line of his body revealed agitation "Very well!" he barked "Speak your piece and be quick about it! My men are eager for war!" "I think," said Nistur, "that it might be better if all interested parties dismounted and retired to the great Chief Kyaga's tent What we have to relate will take some little time, and all should be free from distractions, the better to attend what we say." "This is far beyond my pledge to you, Lord of Tarsis!" cried Kyaga Then he eyed his restive chieftains "I will permit it, but not try my patience." "How I know that this is not just another trick?" the lord demanded "A moment," said Stunbog He went to Councilor Alban's cluster of wizards and spoke for a while They dismounted and stood in a circle between the two parties "We will require a lance," Stunbog said The lord pointed to one of his guards and snapped his fingers The man rode to Stunbog and handed him a twelve-foot lance, which the healer thrust into the ground so that it stood perfectly upright Alban's magicians began to chant solemnly "These learned mages are raising a curtain of peace," Stunbog said "All here are now bound by it You see where the sun stands now." He pointed to the great orb somewhat more than halfway to zenith "If any violates the peace before the sun is straight overhead, so that the shadow of the spear disappears, the most terrible of divine vengeance will fall upon all who are here today." He looked at the green-painted man beside Kyaga "Perhaps the most revered Shadespeaker would care to aid their wizardry labors?" Surprised, the man shook his head violently, making his strings of amulets rattle "Our shaman deals with the spirits of the Plains," Kyaga said, "not with decadent city wizardry." "A pity," Stunbog said "I should have liked to see him at work Come, my lords, the shadow shortens even as we speak." His pointing finger indicated the small bar of darkness extending westward from the base of the lance Amid shuffling and muttering, the lords and chieftains dismounted and walked toward the great tent The companions spoke in low voices as they made their way there "That man beside Kyaga is no shaman," Stunbog said "In fact, he is a mute I know the signs And there are no sigils painted on his hands." Nistur's eyebrows went up "Several have remarked that he never speaks in Kyaga's presence." Now Ironwood grinned, an expression much like a shark's " 'False eyes,' Granny Toadflower said 'There is one,' she said!" "I trust her ravings make more sense now?" Nistur queried "Just watch closely and back me," Ironwood said Inside the tent, the Lord of Tarsis and his councilors ranged themselves along one side, Kyaga and his chieftains on the other All glared at one another with barely suppressed hostility Ironwood, Nistur, Shellring, and Stunbog walked into the center "Speak and not try our patience," Kyaga commanded "My justice will be terrible if you play us false," promised the Lord of Tarsis "Have no fear," said Nistur, gesturing grandly with his hat "We shall provide you all with an entertainment surpassing your highest expectations My good companion shall now address you." He gestured toward the mercenary and whispered, "Make this good!" "I am Ironwood the mercenary, special investigator by appointment to the Lord of Tarsis In seeking out the murderer of Yalmuk Bloodarrow, and later of Guklak, the following are my findings." He glared around him, the center of all attention Then he turned to the Tarsian party "My Lord of Tarsis, some days ago you entertained the envoys of Kyaga Strongbow The chieftain Yalmuk Bloodarrow was to conduct negotiations on behalf of the absent Kyaga Strongbow until Kyaga's arrival in the nomad camp Is this not so?" "It is so," the lord affirmed "It was not so," said Ironwood "That was the first of many lies in this web of deception Kyaga was not absent; he was present the whole time In fact, he had been in Tarsis for some time before the envoys arrived in the city!" At this, an excited babble broke out "He lies!" Kyaga shouted.Ironwood rounded on him like an angry lion "Hear me, and then call me liar, if you dare!" "Go on!" shouted Shatterspear, already weaving with drink at this early hour, but clearly enjoying the spectacle "I want to hear more!" Now Ironwood turned back to the Tarsian side "And you, Lord of Tarsis, tried to sow dissension between Yalmuk and Shadespeaker, setting them one against the other You instructed your councilors to entertain the chieftains individually, and to try to subvert their loyalty to Kyaga." The lord spread his hands in an appeal to reason "It was but diplomacy What responsible ruler does not these things?" "That is a chancy game, for your own lords played you false But then, all of you were but doing the work of Kyaga Strongbow." "Now you are babbling!" said the lord "Not at all," Ironwood retorted "Councilor Rukh"— he pointed toward the man in ornate armor —"told you Guklak was fanatically loyal to Kyaga, did he not?" "He did." "Yet when we questioned other chiefs here, we learned Guklak's loyalty was not strong In fact, he was ready to sell out Rukh was holding that back, to use the man for his own advantage You yourself knew of Yalmuk's wavering loyalty." "And how does this indicate that Kyaga was in the city when I thought he was far away?" the lord demanded, glaring daggers toward Councilor Rukh, who looked back at him with an expression of bland innocence "To begin with " Ironwood strode toward Shade-speaker Before the man could draw back, the mercenary grasped a handful of the dangling amulets and pulled The broad hat came away, and with it the wig of dangling locks, revealing a man whose real hair was short-cropped, his face smeared with green paint His brown eyes darted toward Kyaga, bright with fear "This is no shaman This is a tongueless slave who wears the shaman's garb while in public with Kyaga!" "He spoke well enough at my banquet!" the lord objected "You did not speak to Shadespeaker," Ironwood announced "The man you spoke to was Kyaga himself!" With a panther-swift movement, he grasped Kyaga's wrist with one hand and with the other yanked the glove from the chief's hand, revealing a complex sigil traced on its back With a swipe of the glove he turned the sigil into a featureless smear The brilliant green eyes, wide with hatred, began to fade "When he wanted to be Shadespeaker, his spell turned his eyes brown As Kyaga, they were green Now you see their real color." The eyes had faded to a dull blue Iron-wood smiled at the chieftains ranged behind Kyaga "There never was any Shadespeaker This man announced his own advent among you." The expressions of chagrin on their faces were almost comical "Not only is there no Shadespeaker, there is no Kyaga Strongbow, either!" "Then who is he?" demanded the lord, at his wit's end Ironwood snatched away the veil, revealing a vaguely handsome but rather nondescript face over which fear crept like advancing fog "No one you, or any other here, would know, save for me His name is Boreas He is a rogue, a harpist, and an actor Once, in another land, he was my friend But he betrayed me and left me for dead." "Hah!" Shellring said excitedly "Granny Toadflower said it was the musician behind all this! 'False eyes,' she said 'There is one,' she said." "When he realized Yalmuk and Guklak were ready to betray him," Ironwood went on, "he decided to murder them in an advantageous fashion He would make it look like the Tarsians had done it so that his chieftains would be bound closer to him in their desire for vengeance." "Infamous!" said the lord Ironwood favored him with a humorless smile "He sought further advantage by framing Councilor Melkar for Guklak's killing He wanted you to hand him your most capable military commander He knew your kind well, my lord He knew you would seize the flimsiest excuse to be rid of a potential rival." The councilors gazed upon their lord with little favor, but he ignored them "I am not yet convinced." "For an actor like Boreas, imitating a Tarsian noble was child's play He met a number of them personally and was helped by the fact that they frequently wear masks in public He could move freely throughout the city, even through the gates after hours, impersonating one lord or another That was how he lured Yalmuk to the square before the Hall of Justice Just another Tarsian noble, ready to sell out his lord or offer a bribe for Yalmuk to the same He got the man passage through oneof the gates— your guards are eminently bribable, my lord —and led him to the square, where the mute slave was waiting on the pedestal of the statue of Abushmulum the Ninth One or the other of them whipped the noose around Yalmuk's neck, and the two of them hauled him up That was why all the blood was on the pedestal." He grinned into the man's face "I suppose a wire garotte is a natural weapon for a harpist, eh, Boreas?" He looked up "Find his harp I'll warrant it's missing a string." "And Guklak?" a nomad chief demanded "Easy," said Ironwood "He probably killed him right here in the camp, then passed through one of the gates as a nobleman on military duty with the corpse wrapped up on a pack animal Patrols pass through the gates at all hours The guards had orders to keep out nomads and other strangers, not nobles of their own city." "This man spins lies!" shouted Kyaga His outburst was greeted with stony silence Shellring turned to Nistur again "That was how he passed the truth-fiend! 'Shadespeaker didn't kill Yalmuk,' he said It was true! There never was a Shadespeaker!" Nistur nodded "Let this be a lesson to you Never trust a man who refers to himself in the third person." "We could not have been gulled so easily by such a rogue!" protested a chieftain "I think I may be able to elucidate," said Stunbog "In fact, here comes one of my colleagues with the proof." The wizened little wizard appeared from a rear compartment of the tent "I found it," he announced, holding up a brass-bound casket This he handed to Stunbog The enormous woman in the spangled robe emerged likewise from the rear of the tent "There was no harp," she announced, "but I found this." She held aloft a long-necked lute, from which a string was plainly missing "I suppose a harp would have been too awkward to carry about in his travels," Ironwood said "Some years ago," Stunbog announced, "these two men, Ironwood and Boreas, had a fateful encounter with a young black dragon Ironwood slew it, but was terribly wounded Boreas, who must have back throughout the struggle, removed its heart and fled, leaving his companion to die Behold the heart of the dragon." He threw back the lid and held the casket high Even the hardened nomads and the schemers of Tarsis gasped Revealed within, on a nest of satin, was a grayish-red organ larger than that of a full-grown bull Though its owner had long been dead, the heart pulsed with an uncanny life-force, throbbing audibly "The heart of a black dragon," Stunbog went on, "properly activated by one who knows the Arts, confers a spell of glamour upon the possessor, bestowing upon him great charisma, making the merely capable seem superb, the merely adequate seem great Why just be a great actor, Boreas thought, when with this talisman he could act on the world stage?" "Ah!" Nistur said "Now I know you!" He walked to Ironwood's side, took a purse from within his tunic, and tossed it at the feet of Boreas "I must return your fee, for I failed in my commission." He addressed the assembly "This man, attired as yet another Tarsian nobleman, hired me to kill my friend here, whom I had not yet met The one who calls himself by many names has an affinity for underhanded homicide He even hired a gang of thugs to ambush us in the Old City." "He had more than mere murder on his mind when he commissioned that attack," said Stunbog, "just as he had more than mere conquest in mind when he moved against Tarsis." "What could be more important than conquering Tarsis?" the lord demanded haughtily "Not that I would have permitted such an outrage, of course." "It seems that Boreas devoted much time to studying the lore of black dragons They are creatures far more complex than their dismal reputation would suggest He had the heart, but Ironwood took the skin of the dragon These two items, together with a spell from a very ancient and obscure tome, would make him powerful beyond his wildest dreams Somewhere beneath the ruins of the Old City of Tarsis lies the great Library of Khrystann; this is widely known among scholars If that spellbook is to be found anywhere, it is in the old library "Evil men suspect all others of evil intent When Boreas learned that Ironwood was in Tarsis, he suspected that his old friend was also in search of the spellbook and would soon come to steal the dragon's heart So Boreas hired Nistur to kill Ironwood, and when that didn't work, he hired the street gang to keep us away from the Old City He wanted Ironwood dead, and he wanted the remaining pieces of the dragon's hide." "What you mean, the remaining pieces?" the lord asked "It seems there is a further complication, my friends Those two young men wrought more foolishness than they knew That immature dragon left the nest too young, and its mother was compelled to search it out When she found it slain, she fell under an overwhelming compulsion for vengeance For all the years since, she has searched for these two, eternally confused by the separation of the heart and the hide She found a part of the hide in a town where Ironwood had his war-harness made She destroyed that town utterly and continued to search for the remainder Here in Tarsis heart and hide have come together." "The dragon!" said the lord "The one the sentries on the walls have reported seeing at night! I thought it only a phantom." "It is not too late!" Boreas cried in desperation "She can hunt only at night and cannot bear the cold for long I have the heart Ironwood has " For the first time he seemed to notice that the mercenary was not wearing his accustomed armor "He has hidden the skin, but he will reveal its hiding place under torture The white dwarves of Tarsis must know where the library is With my talismans and the book, I can control her and every other dragon that lives!" He turned to the Lord of Tarsis "I will share this power with you, my lord!" "I must consider "¦ the lord began, but he was cut off by a shout from Shatterspear "Never have I seen such a nest of lies and treachery!" he roared as he fumbled with the grip of his sword "It has been years since you have seen anything plainly, you sot!" the chieftain of another tribe responded angrily Without Kyaga's binding influence, old feuds were quickly reemerging Melkar turned to the lord and sneered "You are worse than any barbarian! It was a cursed day for Tarsis when you assumed command Get me out of these chains!" There was a universal reaching for weapons, and the wizened little wizard, Alban, threw up his hands "Hold! Any breach of the peace before the sun is at its zenith will bring disaster on us all!" Hands gripping hilts, eyes wide with hate, their heads swiveled to judge the shadow No more than five inches of shadow remained on the western side of the shaft "As it happens," said Stunbog, reverting to the subject at hand, "Ironwood's armor has been destroyed forever Only the heart remains for the dragon to home in on Black dragons are not very intelligent, but they are quite relentless She is bereaved, she is suffering, and she is very, very angry I think she might well be angry enough to attack in the daylight I am old, my friends Perhaps my ears play tricks Does anyone else hear something?" There was utter silence; then, faintly, there came a sound like distant thunder It was the sound of vast wings beating, and the sound was drawing closer by the second "Time to leave," Nistur said to his companions He tugged at Ironwood's arm "Come along." Slowly, still glaring at Boreas, Ironwood backed away His former friend seemed scarcely to notice His eyes were wide with unmitigated terror, and they grew wider as the sound of the wings drew nearer At the entrance to the tent, Nistur turned and doffed his hat once more "We take our leave now Our task is done Gentlemen, I wish you joy of one another." There was a great silence as they walked away from the tent, then: "Let's go!" Shellring cried, sprinting toward the boulders The others were close on her heels, Stunbog holding his robe above his knees, putting on a considerable burst of speed for one of his years They darted into the crevice, and the camouflaged door swung open before them "Look!" Shellring said, stopping them They turned, then crept back toward the mouth of the crevice, drawn by a dreadful curiosity Men boiled from the tent as a vast shadow fell over it Then a gigantic form dropped from the sky like a thunderbolt: a shape blacker than night and full of triumphant malice The dragon was gaunt, almost skeletal, its once-glossy scales dull with privation, but its power was unaffected by its suffering It landed on spread back legs, its whipping tail scattering warriors and beasts like chaff thrown up by a winnowing-fan With savage foreclaws, it spread the magnificent tent open like a man throwing aside a pair of flimsy curtains Then the head and long neck, the grasping claws, disappeared within "Let's get away from here," Shellring moaned "I don't want to see this." But like the others, she was unable to tear her gaze away The dragon drew back from the tent In one great-taloned hand, it held the wooden casket In the other, a human form writhed The beast raised its fearsome snout and vented an ear-shattering roar Then the great, leathery wings spread, and the dragon was aloft, scattering tents in the hurricane generated by its flight With incredible speed, the black form dwindled in the western sky "Now," Stunbog said quietly, "we can go." ***** "Here is what you asked for," Hotforge said, handing Stunbog a large earthenware jar with its mouth stoppered by a wooden plug and sealed with wax "You won't forget your promise, now." "Of course not, my friend," Stunbog said, somewhat out of breath The dwarves had hustled them through the labyrinthine tunnels, and they were now at the foot of a ramp leading up to the surface "What is it?" Ironwood asked "You recall what Granny Toadflower said?" Stunbog delivered a fair imitation of her demented speech " 'You want a cure for dragon bite? Down there! Find the lightning-worm!' This is a portion of the heart of the behir, along with several of its talons They each have properties to prevent or counteract effects of poisons." "It can cure me?" Ironwood asked "I doubt it can effect a permanent cure, but if we can find a properly qualified practitioner of the magical arts, I think we can bring about a remission of the effects of the dragon's poison for a long time, perhaps long enough to find a complete cure." "I guess that's better than nothing," Ironwood said "It is truly difficult to make you happy," Nistur complained as they trudged up the ramp Then the doors swung wide, and they stepped out onto a grassy mound The sun had already melted away the last of the snow, and above them the sky stretched in a broad blue expanse A few yards away, Myrsa and Badar held the reins of six horses, and they cheered when they saw the four tired figures emerge from underground "What favor did you promise Hotforge?" Nistur asked Stunbog "He asked that I spread word of their plight among any other dwarves I might come across They have much to trade and, with an infusion of new blood, their hereditary ills will disappear after a generation or two The dwarves of Tarsis may grow numerous and prosper once more." They turned at a dull, inchoate sound from behind them It came from the city, or just beyond it There were roaring and crashing noises, and smoke began to ascend "That started a while ago," Myrsa told them "It must be a battle or a riot." "I thought I saw a dragon flying," Badar added "Did you see it?" "That we did," Nistur informed him, "and from uncomfortably close range at that." Stunbog shook his head "What folly After all that, after all the revelations they have been granted, they still want to fight." He sighed "I have lost all my books and artifacts, but a scholar's true treasure is here." He tapped his temple They began to mount, but Shellring held back, looking toward the city "I've never been anywhere but Tarsis." "You cannot stay," Stunbog said "You have too many enemies there now, even if the nomads don't destroy it." "Come with us," Nistur urged "See something of the world." She eyed a horse warily "I've never ridden before." "I will teach you," Badar said "Ride with me for a while I show you what to do." He reached down a hand Shellring smiled and took it With an easy surge, he pulled her onto the saddle behind him "That was easily accomplished," Nistur said Ironwood laughed richly "What a group we are! Look at us: an unemployable mercenary, an assassin who can no longer assassinate, a sorcerer who has forsworn magic, a thief, and a pair of outcast barbarians!" "And yet, fate has thrown us together," Nistur observed "Aye," Stunbog agreed "And I cannot help but think it is for some purpose." "We may have saved the world from a tyrant," Nistur said Stunbog nodded "True, but much of the danger was of our own making Does it not occur to you that the four of us—Nistur, Ironwood, Shellring, and myself— are much alike? In the past each of our lives took an evil turn, and we sought prosperity through the easy path Truly, I should not include Shellring, for she was desperate and had little choice in adopting the life of a thief The three of us had no such excuse I think we have all been given a chance to atone for our sins and the evils we have brought on the world We must use this opportunity wisely We will not get another, for as we have just witnessed, there is yet true justice in Ansalon." As they sat their mounts and gazed at the black smoke now rising over Tarsis, they pondered these sobering words "But what are we to do?" Shellring asked at last "Is it not obvious?" said Nistur "We were commissioned to solve a murder If I may say so, we accomplished this task with no little distinction If the Lord of Tarsis had such a problem, might not others? Let us hire ourselves out as solvers of crimes, ferreters-out of murderers, champions of justice! Do you think that lot"— his sweeping gesture took in the city of Tarsis—"are an aberration? Nothing of the sort!" "Then, where shall we go?" Ironwood mused Nistur leaned forward in his saddle "Ah, my friends, that is the beauty of this career! Unlike mercenaries, we not have to seek out a war Unlike merchants, we not have to find a market." He leaned back and spread his arms wide "No matter where we go, we will always find wickedness! And there we shall be in our element." And with that they wheeled their mounts about and rode away from Tarsis the Proud ... among the Inner Council of ten Great rivalry, conniving, and backstabbing went into obtaining a seat on the Inner Council The greatest degree of these things went into being elected Lord of Tarsis. .. looked snug and well maintained Like the others, its masts were long since gone, replaced by a single chimney from which smoke ascended invitingly It was all the more inviting as Nistur grew more... depending on whether nautical terminology still applied While Shellring made herself at home, stretching out on a cushioned window seat, Nistur examined his new surroundings with lively interest